


Taking the Risks

by Foophile



Category: Prison Break
Genre: Community: rounds_of_kink, Confessions, Drug Use, Lincoln's a dumb ass, Love/Hate, M/M, Pre-Canon, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-06
Updated: 2012-08-06
Packaged: 2017-11-10 14:48:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/467496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Foophile/pseuds/Foophile
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Of course, remembering that he has a very nice apartment of his own has Michael wondering even more why he’s sitting in Lincoln’s crap hole of a concrete box, watching his brother get drunk.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Taking the Risks

**Author's Note:**

> Yet another one where I felt (in reflection) that I had to add the "Lincoln's a dumb ass" tag. _Sorry Lincoln-muse!_

Michael hates Lincoln’s apartment. It’s in the wrong part of town, just getting there is like taking his life into his own hands, and Lincoln has never really cared because he fits in, which is bad enough.

The only thing worse than arriving at the apartment is being in it. It’s a searing hot box of misery during the summer and an ice box during the winter. Michael’s always thought that it would have been better if Lincoln had just settled for living on the roof for as much exposure he gets to the elements.

He would have invited Linc to move in with him but then well…Lincoln would be living with him. That’s enough of a case against it, really.

Of course, remembering that he has a very nice apartment of his own has Michael wondering even more why he’s sitting in Lincoln’s crap hole of a concrete box, watching his brother get drunk.

“I should go,” Michael finishes out loud. He really should. He doesn’t want to be here, has never liked being around Linc when he’s high or drunk or both, and can almost hear his loft calling for him across town.

Lincoln doesn’t seem to like that idea though. He falls all over the couch to trying to stop him when Michael hasn’t moved from his armchair. “No, don’t, I’ll be better. I promise.”

Sighing at the words he’s heard too many times and in many variations, Michael sucks the last dregs of beer from his bottle and watches Lincoln watch him.

This isn’t the first time that Lincoln’s called him over when he’s taken something. Usually Lincoln’s freaking out, blaming someone for giving him a bad batch of whatever recreational drug is in at the moment (he’s never taken the ‘hard’ stuff, things that involve needles and Michael can at least feel relief over that). And Michael hates it, nearly hates Lincoln for making him the ‘responsible’ brother. But he also knows that it’s either Michael keeping an eye out and making sure that Lincoln doesn’t choke on his own vomit or watching his brother become another sad statistic.

His brother won’t call anyone else if he’s in trouble.

This is why Michael is staying to wait for the inevitable pass out where he’ll drag Lincoln into his bedroom, lay him on his side with a wastebasket, and finally leave.

His brother’s eyes are completely blown, darker than Michael’s ever seen them. He’s riding high on something that keeps him mellow and loose, a little chatty. As much as Michael hates drugs, he’s thankful that whatever Lincoln’s swallowed this time doesn’t have him giggling and hallucinating like the last time where Michael almost fled in terror.

No, this stuff makes Lincoln strangely affectionate, touchy to the point that Michael’s uncomfortable and half-hard. Why he’s moved to a chair instead of the moderate comfort of the couch. But Michael’s trying to focus on the upside of this situation.

“I’ll be so much better, little bro,” Lincoln’s still saying. He’s moved to the corner of the couch, almost falling off of the cushion.

“Then stop doing this to yourself,” Michael finally responds. The game they’d been watching, distracting themselves with, goes to commercial and Michael turns from the TV just in time to see Lincoln drop his beer bottle to the grimy rug.

Lincoln’s grins. “Alright, I quit.”

“Right.” Michael shakes his head and deliberately leaves the beer to empty out on the floor. Lincoln can clean it up himself once he’s sober.

His brother slides across the couch a little more and his baggy jeans slip down his hips, show that Lincoln’s gone commando for the day. “What do I have to do to get you to believe me?”

Michael curses him silently and drags his eyes back up to Lincoln’s mischievous smile. The flirting tonight has been more intensive than it’s ever been and Michael’s tempted to leave again. It’s cruel for Lincoln to play with him like this, especially when they’ve both known for a while just how hopelessly in love Michael really is. Otherwise, familial connection aside, why would Michael feel obligated to come to this shitty apartment in this shitty neighborhood time and again?

“Just shut up and watch the game.”

Lincoln sits up with a scowl, slouching onto his back with a huff. He looks like a temperamental child, pouting because no one wants to play, and Michael’s fine keeping him that way for the rest of the night.

Then his brother shamelessly rubs at the swell in his jeans through the next five minutes of the game. Michael’s noticed it since he came in and wonders if Lincoln’s taken some cross between E and Viagra. Either way, his eyes stay glued to the pitcher on screen, whose name Michael can’t remember and on a team that he isn’t sure is losing or winning.

Lincoln starts to talk to himself when the game goes to commercial again. ”I swear anyone else would…,” His mumbles die down to the point where Michael can’t hear them anymore. Then he says, much louder, “Wish you’d just fuck me already.”

“What?” Michael’s finally gone crazy, he’s manifesting voices.

Lincoln laughs like the high bastard he is. “Oops! Is it too late to take that back?” The next second, his attitude flips like a pancake. He lets out an aggravated growl and slips his hand into his pants. “What do you need, an engraved invitation? You’re hard and I’m hard. Why don’t we just do this?”

“Because the drugs have broken your brain, Linc,” Michael speaks slowly after he picks up his jaw from the floor. “You’re hallucinating.” And if Lincoln doesn’t lose consciousness soon, Michael thinks he might knock the man out himself.

Lincoln unzips and takes his cock in hand, starts stroking himself right there. Michael bites his lip to keep in a moan. “No, I want you and I _know_ you want me. Come on, you can act like I won’t remember in the morning.”

“Will you?” Michael asks. It’s impossible to ignore the vision in front of him or how hard he is from watching.

Lincoln moans, his eyes half-closed. “I hope so.”

And it’s not fair, Michael whines silently. It’s not fair that Lincoln’s teasing him like this. It’s not fair that his brother can even get hard from the cocktail of drugs and alcohol coursing through his body. Chiefly, it’s unfair that whatever Lincoln’s on has somehow infected Michael, makes him feel like he too is in the ultimate hallucination, because he _wants_ this, no matter how twisted it is.

Lincoln’s staring at Michael like his worries are scrolling across his forehead. “Stop being such a pussy about this.”

Michael’s warming up to the idea of knocking him out. Of course, his brother would know just the right thing to say to piss him off. Strangely, his cock only gets harder.

But taking the bait, getting up and moving over to his brother, is still the hardest part. It’s when he’s standing between his brother’s legs that it hits him that they’re about to have sex. He starts to doubt again then Lincoln pulls him in and starts to unbuckle his belt.

“I’ve been waiting for this,” his brother rambles. For the first time that night, he’s left his erection alone and it’s angry red against his thigh. Michael’s palms itch to touch.

He’s thinking only one thing when he pushes Lincoln’s hands away and goes to his knees.

“Mine.”

Lincoln’s head goes back, sprawled on the couch, like he doesn’t have a care in the world. It’s so like Lincoln to act comfortable in this surreal moment that Michael’s driven to wipe the easy smirk off his face.

There’s no hesitation as he takes his brother’s cock in his mouth. He takes the time to taste the salty flesh then drags memories of college boyfriends to the fore. After that, he’s reading, feeling, tasting Lincoln’s reactions, the way he clenches his thighs in a particular way. His brother’s moaning like a porn star, over the top and almost unbelievable if Michael wasn’t down there doing the deed and causing those sounds.

When the moaning congeals into words and sentences, Michael’s a mix of astounded and ablaze.

“I want you to fuck me after this. Say you will.”

And like he’s watching a dirty movie, Michael can _see_ that. Lincoln spread, limbs akimbo on his bed, writhing for Michael. He can imagine the perfect hot pucker of his ass, opening wide for him, all of him open so wide, so desperate for _him_.

Michael groans around the cock in his mouth and almost comes in his pants. He wants it, never wanted anything more and so he does say it, slicking off of his brother’s cock.

“I want to. God, Linc, I want to be in you.”

Lincoln’s glassy eyes roll up into his head and then he’s pulsing in Michael’s hand, ropy strands catching Michael on the chin and cheek and mouth. His brother shudders and gasps long through a short climax and Michael watches, waits until Lincoln opens his eyes again and looks down before he takes the head of Lincoln’s cock back into his mouth, tasting the last. Lincoln’s cock jerks, like he wants to come again and he whines with oversensitivity.

Then Lincoln’s hands are sloppy all over his head, trying to pull him up by the ears, the hair, which doesn’t feel so good until Michael’s off his knees and lying between Lincoln’s legs and his brother’s licking the come from his face. Michael can hear himself moaning in dazed shock as the slick tongue picks up everything he just put out and Michael’s sure that he’s going to explode.

He’s so proud of himself when he holds on for just a little longer because he’s not done yet. Lincoln’s given him a guarantee that he plans on collecting. But first…

“Come on,” Michael grabs the nearest limb and pulls Lincoln off the couch. “This’ll be better in a bed.”

“I’m sure it will be.” Lincoln’s trying to be sexy, making his voice all deep and sultry, and, yeah, it’s working if the irregular thud of Michael’s heart means anything.

Lincoln’s bedroom is possibly the only good thing in his apartment. It’s simple, a big bed, dresser, and a window that catches the light in the mornings. It’s small and Lincoln makes it look practically minuscule when he crashes onto the mattress.

Michael tears off that dumb white wife beater that Lincoln’s wearing all the time now and gets his hands on skin, sinks himself in it. His brother’s body is lax, almost like he’s falling asleep and Michael gets a little rough with him, yanking off Lincoln’s jeans by the legs, because that’s _not_ going to happen right now. Not when Michael is so hard and Lincoln’s been shooting off his mouth, teasing him.

His brother, the ass, is laughing at his enthusiasm. “Watch the merchandise.”

“I hope you’ve got something,” Michael grunts. Lincoln nods, reaches up to pull the entire bedside drawer onto the floor. He can see lube and some condoms somewhere amongst the nail clippers and rubber bands. “Thanks, Linc, you’re such a help.”

Lincoln’s smile goes as wide as the part of his legs. Michael’s mouth is as dry as the desert. “Anytime.”

“I can’t believe you’re serious about this.”

Lincoln’s sweaty even though the room is cool. He’s hard again, panting like he’s run a race. “Stop talking. Start doing.”

Michael only bothers to unzip his pants. He grabs the supplies from the floor and applies them as quickly as he can. He tries to be gentle, doesn’t know how often his brother does this, but Lincoln’s feeling no pain. Actually kicks him when he fumbles with the condom.

Michael’s pants are around his knees, still fully clothed otherwise, and his brother looks just as he imagined. Michael's in awe and says exactly what he thinks,“You’ve lost it.”

“Only for you, Michael,” Lincoln says and sounds like he means it.

His brother’s tight around him, big and strong underneath him, and except for the drugs making his skin feverish and the beer on his breath it's bliss.  
___

When it’s dark and quiet, Lincoln a snoring heap next to him, Michael lies awake. He thinks of why he hates this apartment. Why he hates how easily Lincoln can fit in with the cold graffiti'd concrete and drug dealers on the corner.

Their first foster home was only a few blocks from here. The family was poor yet nice to two kids who’d just lost their mother. They stayed until Lincoln dropped out of school and took his first trip to juvie. It seems like nothing’s changed since then, not for Lincoln. His brother’s never really left.

There’s nothing that can explain why lying here feels like wearing a sweater that’s too small. Why he still wants to run when he finally has what he’s always wanted. It could be guilt over what’s happened or fear over what’s to come but he thinks that it’s not that exactly. Maybe it has something to do with why his brother’s excuses never faze him, why he’s never called Lincoln on the lies that they always are.

Or why he’ll keep taking the risks and watching over Lincoln when Michael’s never enjoyed looking back; a little bit of him stuck in the past because where Lincoln goes he’s sure to follow.

END  



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